


No Secrets Between Him and Me

by doomed_spectacles



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 02, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: (Post season 2. No season 3 spoilers.)Miller returns to court for the first time since the verdict. Hardy asks her a question she didn't expect him to ask. She tells him the answer."You've got that look.""What look?""The 'I'm going to tell DI Hardy something he doesn't want to know and didn't ask to hear about' look."She raises her eyebrows and her face shows what she thinks of that. "Fine, never telling you anything ever again."





	No Secrets Between Him and Me

**Author's Note:**

> I can't seem to stop writing dialogue-centric Broadchurch fics. As in most of what I write for any fandom, not much happens but characters talk a lot.
> 
> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://oimatchstickman.tumblr.com/post/162606164435), specifically the tags. I found it hilarious at the time, then actually thought about the fact that he doesn't really know what she meant at the end of s2. This takes place after Hardy has returned to Broadchurch in s3.

Miller reaches into her bag of crisps and grabs a handful. She munches on them absently, staring at the file in front of her. At the other end of the table, Hardy passes a hand across his forehead. She turns the page over and doesn't look up. 

A child on the mezzanine behind them shrieks, the sound echoing off the high ceilings and glass windows of the Wessex Crown Court building. The child is promptly shushed by his mum. The overhead speaker announces an adjournment, but it isn't theirs.

She offers him the open bag without looking away from the file folder. He reaches over and takes a crisp, then goes back to reading.

Miller puts down the file and sighs. She checks her phone, then sets it on the table. She looks out at the lobby below. People drift in and around, going about the daily drama of their own lives. Bored solicitors drink coffee and talk shop. Distraught families gather in clusters, whispering about whatever ordeal they're enduring together. Some cry, others adamantly don't. She looks at all of them in turn. 

"What?" Hardy says.

"What you mean, what?"

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The '_I'm going to tell DI Hardy something he doesn't want to know and didn't ask to hear about'_ look."

She raises her eyebrows and her face shows what she thinks of that. "Fine, never telling you anything ever again."

"Fine! That's _actually fine_ with me, Miller."

"And you wonder why they all call you shit-face," she says, but without malice.

He doesn't respond to that but gives her a look that says _I'm not responding to that_. She rolls her eyes. He takes another crisp from the bag on the table.

A school group led by a young pair of teachers goes through the metal detectors on the first floor. The teenage students chatter excitedly as the security staff checks their bags and the teachers try to keep order. Miller looks down at the kids.

"I thought it'd be awful, coming back here," she says quietly.

"And?"

"Not bad. Not good, either. Just..." she shrugs.

"Good," he says. "You can't let him determine your feelings about a place."

"Says the man who left home to come live here because of his feelings about starting over in the place that nearly killed him. Twice." Her expression isn't smug.

He makes a noncommittal noise. "Touché."

She yawns and stretches her arms above her head. Her shoulder pops. She winces and rubs it.

Hardy looks down at the school group, now gathered in the lobby below them. The teachers are explaining the protocol for observing whatever it is they're here to observe. About half the kids listen. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the table. He looks at Miller, thoughtful.

"What?" she says.

"What, _what_?"

"You took off your readers and you've got that look."

"Now_ I've_ got a look?"

"Yeah. The '_Hardy is going to say something and it'll probably be rude and/or none of his business'_ look."

He presses his lips together and doesn't say anything.

"Well go on, then," she says, prodding.

"Not saying anything to you _now_."

"Come on, now I'm curious." She puts her hands on the table and leans forward. "And bored, Hardy, I'm very bored. Aren't you?"

"No."

"Liar."

He looks up at the ceiling, as if seeking patience from above. She sticks out her tongue at him.

The student group is met by an official, who ushers them through a doorway. The kids funnel through, laughing and talking in hushed voices. On the other side of the lobby, a broken-looking woman with her arm in a sling watches them go by. The solicitor next to her is texting.

Miller looks at nothing in particular. Hardy closes his file.

"What did you mean when you said it's been dealt with?" he asks.

She blinks, taken aback but not angry or sad. Just surprised.

"Never mind. You don't have to tell me-"

"No, it's only fair," she says. "I asked you a hundred times why you came back here before you told me. I owe you this one, then."

He looks at her earnestly for the first time in the conversation. "You don't owe me anything, Miller," he says. "I mean it."

She meets his eyes. "It was Paul's idea."

"The vicar?"

She nods. "He went to the church, of all places. Afterward. For sanctuary, I guess."

Hardy leans back and crosses his arms but doesn't say anything.

"Paul got hold of us. He told us-" She stops for a second and rubs the bridge of her nose. She starts over. "Mark and Nige threw him in the van. You know that awful blue one? The one with Mark's name plastered all over?"

"Miller," he says, his voice low.

She ignores him, her voice far away. "They took him to the hut. The- on the cliff- you know, where-"

"Miller, don't tell me if-" he insists.

She finally hears him and scrunches up her face. "What?"

"Don't tell me if it's-"

"Oh for God's _sake_, we didn't kill him!" She sits back in her chair, incredulous. "You really think it'd be Paul's idea for us to kill him?"

He puts up his arms, defensive. "Okay, okay, go on."

She shakes her head and continues. "Mark and Nige brought him to the hut. And Beth was there. And I was there." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Beth said her piece."

Hardy nods.

"And I told him-"

"-you don't have to tell me, Miller."

"-I told him he had no family anymore. If he came near us, I'd kill him and then turn myself in," she says, her voice even. She doesn't cry.

Hardy releases a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Paul arranged him to go ... somewhere. Don't know."

She finishes and looks away from him at the people below. A man in a flamboyant suit emerges from one of the doors and pumps his arms in the air, triumphant. His solicitor, a harried man in glasses, follows behind him, frowning.

They sit at their table in silence. Hardy looks at Miller, his face thoughtful but not unkind.

After a few moments, she turns back to him. "You know, I don't really need one but I kinda want one of those muffins from the coffee stand downstairs. The one with sprinkles. Think I have time?"

He just stares at her. A uniformed court officer approaches their table and motions to Ellie. 

"Oh Bill! Is that me, then?" she says, getting up. "Good timing, you just saved me from getting a treat I don't need." She gathers her things and gives Hardy a wave before leaving with the officer. They chat amiably as they head towards the courtroom.

To her back, he mutters, "Amazing."

* * *

"Your turn now, sir," the officer says as he walks with Miller out of the courtroom. Hardy stands up, stretches. 

As she approaches, she says, "One of the jurors has an eye-patch. I tried not to stare at it but, well." She grimaces and manages to look both sheepish and ridiculous.

"Right," Hardy says. He nods and walks toward the courtroom she had just exited.

"Good luck," she calls after him.

She plops down at the empty table where they'd been sitting. Hardy had taken his files and left his seat pulled back. On her side of the table sat an unwrapped muffin. The kind with sprinkles.

**Author's Note:**

> [@doomed-spectacles on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doomed-spectacles) \- say hi if you like.


End file.
